by Liz Talley
She hoped it worked out for her brother. He and Rosemary seemed perfect for one another, but looks could be deceiving. Everyone starts out with stars in their eyes, thinking they’ll grow old together. Frances had always thought it better to ease into a relationship, to try on what she had, make sure before she went all in that the chances were good she’d have a winning hand.
Of course, that’s what she’d done with Michael and that hadn’t worked out. Michael had seemed a solid option. He was reasonable, handsome, partially Italian, smart, and sensible. He researched every business transaction, double measured before he made a cut, and seemed always prepared for any situation. They got along well and suited each other. Yet something had held Michael back from proceeding with their relationship.
And here was Clem, a big country drink of water who wanted her to take a chance on … something. Or maybe he really wanted sex. Rosemary and her friends had cracked a few jokes about him and his penchant for the ladies during the bridesmaid luncheon. Perhaps Clem wanted her to let go and jump into something because that would net him what he wanted—her in his bed.
But something in her gut told her that wasn’t true. He hadn’t pressed her the night before, and he seemed content to spend time with her, enjoying her company, teaching her about his life here in Mississippi. If he’d wanted sex, he could have gotten that last night.
So what did he want from her?
And why couldn’t she let herself give any small part?
Was she that afraid of getting hurt? Or was the left part of her brain doing what it did best—weighing the differing sides and allowing the rational to overrule the fanciful?
By the time they’d reached the barn, Frances had no good answers for anything in her life. Which was a position she rarely found herself in. Because Frances always had the answers.
Except this time.
Clem walked through the restaurant, dodging workers who were putting the final touches on the bank teller/hostess stand. The dark charcoal tile flooring had gone in days ago and looked perfect against the creamy plastered walls and the rough-hewn-cedar trim. Attractive light fixtures dangled over the spaces where the new tables would sit. Frances had found some good chairs from a supplier in Jackson and ordered matching barstools for the small gelato/dessert bar that would sit on the far wall. Overall, the place was coming together in a classic style that wasn’t too fussy but would make Sal’s New York Pizzeria a wonderful place for families to indulge in Sal’s delicious pies.
“I put the lampshades for the pendulum lighting behind the bar,” Frances said, wiping her hands on the denim shorts she wore. She had her hair pulled back but big chunks had fallen loose. Perspiration sheened her face, and her sleeveless shirt was damp with sweat and covered in sawdust. She looked far removed from the sleek Manhattan woman who’d clicked her way into the restaurant two weeks ago. He much preferred this one.
“Great. I’ll tell Larry to wait until we’ve done a final cleanup before they go on.”
“I think Sal’s going to be pleased.” Frances looked around critically. They’d compromised on the wall surface, and the old cedar beams that had been part of the original structure. He’d agreed with her on the dark charcoal tile floor and the wooden one at the entrance. She’d acquiesced on the stacked-stone wall and copper-scripted sign. And today he had a special surprise for her … or rather Sal and Rosemary, who were due to arrive at the restaurant any minute now, did.
“You did a great job.”
She swiped her brow. “And so did you.”
“I’d say we work well together, but that would be stating the obvious,” he said, eyeing the crate he’d had Larry and the guys unload from the back of his truck a few minutes earlier.
“What about the sign?” Frances asked, eyeing the blank space at the entrance.
“That’s a bit of a surprise,” he said, stepping over to the crate. He’d spent his evenings for the past week and a half trying not to think about Frances and how crazy she drove him. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t let go of her inhibitions and be with him. But he respected it. Her refusal to enter into a relationship only served to highlight the dissatisfaction he’d been feeling lately in his own life. He’d spent so much time playing around at being a dashing country boy with a quick smile and even quicker hands that he’d probably let a few good women get away. But instead of dwelling on past questionable decisions paired with the desire he had for Frances, he’d driven out to the workshop and made a sign for the restaurant that would rival any stupid hoop-de-doo fancy copper one.
He took a crowbar and cracked open the lid he’d nailed down only last night. Pulling away the Bubble Wrap he’d crammed in to cushion the ride, he carefully pulled the cocooned sign out.
“What’s that?” Frances asked, peering over his shoulder.
“You’ll see.” He took the sign over to the granite bar and set it down, then untied the strings holding a blanket in place and folded the flaps back to reveal what he’d worked on into the wee morning hours.
“Oh, Clem,” Frances said, putting her hand on his forearm. “It’s incredible.”
He’d taken some intact planks from the old bank floor and sanded them down before making a frame and nailing the planks into it. Then, using his band saw, he’d taken a plank of smooth white oak and created the skyline of New York City. He’d painted the skyline a bright red, then drilled holes and installed lights that matched the lettering on the awning Rosemary had ordered. The overall effect was the perfect balance between Morning Glory and NYC.
“Hey, hey,” someone called from the open doorway.
“Sal,” Frances replied, gesturing toward her brother and a glowing Rosemary, who appeared beside him. “Come look what Clem made for you. It’s gorgeous.”
“Oh wow, it looks great in here,” Rosemary crooned, hurrying past her new husband. She wore tight pink pants and a fuzzy short-sleeved sweater that looked right out of a fifties movie. Somehow Rosemary made old-fashioned seem chic. Yeah, he knew what chic was. His sister had used that word every other sentence in the late ’90s when she’d graduated from design school.
“Whoa, bud,” Sal said, looking at the sign. “That’s incredible.”
“Well, I didn’t get you a wedding present,” Clem said, feeling uncomfortable at the fawning everyone was doing. Rosemary had already pulled out her phone to take a picture of the sign. “How was the honeymoon?”
“It was great. We ate a lot of steak and had a lot of sex. Perfect in my book.”
“Sal Genovese,” Rosemary huffed, lowering her phone. “Mind your manners.”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Sal said with a big grin. His sister rolled her eyes but smiled. “And you two aren’t trying to kill each other. I’m shocked. Did you call a truce or something?”
“No,” Frances said. “We did what you suggested. Clem took me around and taught me about Morning Glory.”
“He did?” Rosemary asked, her gaze darting between Clem and Frances. Clem could see the wheels turning. Had he tried something with Frances? Yes, he had. Had they tried to kill each other? Not really, but it had come close. Had they actually managed to make progress? Just look around.
“He did,” Frances said, nodding. “I went fishing, rode in his stupid truck—”
“Hey,” Clem interrupted. “It’s not stupid. It’s awesome.”
Frances ignored him. “I learned how to fry chicken, sweet-talk a rooster, and two-step at some place called the Iron Bull.”
“He took you to the Iron Bull?” Rosemary’s eyebrows climbed even higher.
“Yeah, I missed out on the night before the wedding because I had to help Mama with the food for the reception,” Frances said.
“Well, look at you.” Sal reached over to give his sister a squeeze. Frances immediately wriggled out of his embrace. “My little Frannie’s becoming a real Southern belle.”
Clem snorted.
“What?” Frances said, shooting him a look. “I did good. I couldn�
�t win any contests for being a small-town country girl, but I fit in.” She waved her hand down her body, indicating the shorts and hiking boots she’d bought to protect her cute little piggies from nails when she came in to check on the progress of the project.
“You do look different,” Rosemary said, grinning at both of them. “Boy, you met your match in this one, Clem Aiken.”
Rosemary’s words slammed into him. Match. That word again. Over the past week and a half, he was almost certain he’d indeed met his match. Problem was … his match wasn’t interested. Well, she was interested but not in picking up what he was laying down. Or maybe she just wasn’t interested enough. Whichever.
Oh, he wasn’t in love. Or he didn’t think he was. Still, he was certain that it could turn that way very easily. Frances might not believe someone could fall for another person in two weeks, but he could damn sure lose his balance in that length of time.
“Aww, I know how to handle a filly like Frannie,” Clem said, intentionally trying to rankle Frances. Because why should she get a pass? He’d spent the past nine nights tossing and turning over the woman, so she could damn sure show a little emotion.
But she merely winked at him.
Damn woman.
Sal laughed. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, but right now, I want to see what you’ve been up to in here while I’ve been enjoying every moment of my life with my new ball and chain.”
“Your new one?” Rosemary asked. “I’m your only one.”
“True.”
Clem took Sal around, showing him the changes they’d made. They were only cosmetic, but the tiling, lighting, and paint color brought the good bones to life. The rustic yet sleek restaurant paired perfectly with the open, gleaming kitchen. They’d bricked half the wall in several areas with the old brick from the bank, and while it wasn’t stacked stone, it looked pretty damned cool.
Frances did much the same with Rosemary, showing her the completed bathroom with the black toilets and bowl sinks. He’d placed an arch over the entrance to the small hall that housed storage, bathrooms, and the kitchen entrance. Frances had brought a picture of Mama Mello’s and mounted it above the arch. When he and Sal got to that part of the restaurant, Sal actually teared up. And when he found out Frances had done something so sentimental, Sal whipped her into a huge bear hug.
“You’re the greatest sister ever,” Sal said, finally setting her down.
“Well, it’s about time,” she said, blowing hair out of her eyes. “Usually you’re running the other way from my advice.”
“You wanted me to marry Angelina,” Sal said with disgust.
“No, I wanted you to be happy,” Frances said, sliding a sheepish smile toward Rosemary. “No offense, Rose.”
“None taken. It worked out the way it was supposed to. Took me and Sal a little while to realize you can’t stop fate. It’s like a wrecking ball. Just keeps coming.”
“And, man, do I love being wrecked by you,” Sal said, wrapping his arm around Rosemary, giving her a smile that radiated pure love.
Frances made a face. “You two are sickening.”
Rosemary stood on tiptoe, and Sal met her with a brief kiss.
“That’s how we like it,” Sal said.
“We have to go.” Rosemary tugged Sal’s arm. “We have to pick up wedding gifts from my parents’ house. Mama swears she can’t see her guest bedroom from all the silver blinding her.”
Sal and Rosemary made their good-byes with lots of hugs and rushed out the door, looking happier than two dogs in a mud puddle.
“They look too happy,” Frances grumbled.
“There’s no such thing as too happy, Frannie. It like saying you’re too rich or too good-lookin.’” Clem watched the couple through the glass. The chatty mailman, Fred Odom, ambushed them, and suddenly they looked less enthusiastic, which made Clem grin. “How about a drink?”
“You drink on the job?”
“A Coke,” Clem said.
Frances shrugged. “Sure, let’s sneak a break. Your boss looks plenty pleased with the result. Surely he wouldn’t deny you a pop.”
“Coke,” he corrected.
“Southerners.” She sighed dramatically.
She followed him out back. A few of the crew were smoking, but they quickly snubbed out their butts and hurried back inside. They were good guys, but he had to stay on them sometimes.
He kept an ice chest in the back of his truck with sports drinks and water, and he usually snuck in a few Cokes and a few beers just in case. A man had to be prepared. Taking the two old-fashioned bottled Coca-Colas from the icy depths, he cracked them open with his key ring and offered her one. Sliding onto the tailgate, he patted the spot next to him.
Frances hopped up, her bare thigh brushing his jean-clad one. He loved how toned her legs were, loved the way she still smelled like a girl even when she was hot and sweaty. Fact was he liked Frances Genovese next to him period.
“Mm,” Frances said, taking a drink. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.” He eyed his own. “So I’ll be moving next summer.”
“What?” She turned shocked eyes on him. “You’re doing it? Leaving Morning Glory?”
“I am,” he said, looking down the alley that gave a glimpse of the small town’s brick road and tree-studded town square. “It’s a great town. But the opportunity to make my side business my main focus is too good to pass up. Sweetgrass Furniture’s going mainstream, and I’ll need a bigger workspace and workforce.”
“That’s incredible. But why can’t you do that here?”
“It wouldn’t be as profitable or as streamlined, so I’m relocating to Charleston. Going home.” As he said the words, he felt the rightness in the depths of his chest. He’d been the rebel son for too long. Time to mend fences. Time to merge the independent, prideful man with the one who valued his family, his home, the place he was meant to be.
“Going home,” she repeated, a smile in her voice.
“Yeah, I love it here in Mississippi. The people are good and I fit here … for a while. But I grew up in Carolina. I’m a Carolina boy at heart. Larry’s going to buy Country Boy Construction and take over any leftover projects. I’m not moving until May. Got a few commitments to fulfill, and the investors are helping me find the perfect location.”
“Wow, you’re really jumping into this quickly.”
“Nah, not really. Deep down I knew I’d go home. Besides, I take pleasure in making my furniture. Sometimes when I’m sanding a tabletop or putting on a coat of linseed oil, I envision the family that will sit at my table. I can picture the little boy struggling over fractions, the grandpa saying the Thanksgiving blessing over a roasted turkey. Makes me feel like I’m making something important.”
Frances placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed it. “I’m so proud for you, Clem. Wish I could figure my life out so easily.”
“Yeah, so … About that,” he said.
Frances tucked her hair nervously behind her ear and took a draw on her Coke bottle.
“So, you said you might come visit.”
“I did.”
“What if you stayed?”
“What,” she asked, whipping her head around. “Stay? In Charleston?”
“I’ll have to hire someone to help me get off the ground. Do the marketing and designing stuff. I can make the tables, but we’ll have to hire someone for the business side. You could do that.”
“Just a business arrangement?” she asked, her pretty brown eyes crinkling.
“Maybe more than business.”
She sat silent for a few second. “Clem, we agreed—”
“A year. I know. I’ll give you a year to decide. Isn’t that what you said—the one-year rule?”
“Yeah, but that’s for a relationship.”
“Isn’t that what we have?”
“Not really. I mean, yes. But we never really … You want me to come to Charleston?”
“I want you to stay with me right now.”
Frances looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.
“But that’s crazy,” she said.
“Didn’t you listen a few minutes ago? Sometimes you know when it’s right. A person walks into your life and you know. When I saw you at that wedding, I had a weird feeling. I felt excited and scared … and to be truthful, a little nauseated. Though I thought it was crazy, I knew you were a match.”
“Clem, you dumped water on my head.”
“Had to get your attention some way.”
She laughed. And a laughing Frances was a beautiful thing. Finally she looked at him. “You’re serious.”
He was. He’d been thinking the whole time he’d been making cuts, dovetailing joints, and sanding the tabletop. Asking Frances to be with him might seem impetuous, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. The image of them together in Charleston chipped away any remaining reason. They would walk the battery, shop in the farmers’ markets, go out to Tybee Island and take pictures with the lighthouse in the background. He could see them living their lives together. Clear as day. “So I’m giving you a year to realize you belong beside me. I get that you think New York is your town. Your family’s there. But this thing that happened between us, well, that’s not coincidence. It’s that wrecking ball of fate swinging at us.”
“But, Clem, I can’t just chuck my life on a whim. I’m a New Yorker. I’m Catholic and Italian and—”
“They allow Italians and Catholics in Charleston. In fact, there are Jews and Muslims there.” He faked a gasp.
Frances’s mouth twitched. “I know. But this is too much. I want you. I like you. I … I’m not ready to make any sort of commitment right now. I’m too scattered, too unsure. We haven’t even slept together.”
“Not for a lack of trying.” Clem chuckled. “Look, I know where you are in life, Frannie. That’s why there’s no pressure. I think we’re a meant-to-be, but I’m not the only one thinking in this, you know. I’m giving you the year you wanted. Take some time to decide what you want out of life. Whatever you decide, we’ll both live with.”
