by T. I. Lowe
Leah took a swallow of her water. “Your secret is safe with me.” She got up to go settle their bill, with Crowley following. She noticed as he started to pull his wallet out. “Don’t even think about it.”
Crowley slid the wallet back in his pocket with a shrug. “Emma, can I get another preserve-filled donut for the road?”
“Sure. Let me go grab it.” She hurried into the kitchen.
Leah shook her head. “Really, Crow? That’s your seventh donut.”
Crowley shrugged.
After leaving Nate’s Cakes, Leah drove in the direction of the courthouse.
“We’re heading in the wrong direction,” Crowley said as he slowly ate his donut.
“I want to see the courthouse. I see you in a suit sometimes, but you may be joshing me about that too.” Truth was, she just wasn’t in a hurry to head back yet. Crowley might have upset her earlier, but she genuinely enjoyed his company.
“I kid you not, Lee.”
They rode in silence until they came upon the massive historical courthouse. Leah did another U-turn and headed home.
“Happy?” Crowley asked.
“Just peachy,” Leah said as she turned the radio up a bit and sang along to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain.”
“How do you know all these old songs?” Crowley asked.
“I lived with a couple of hippies for about a year when I was a kid. They taught me all I needed to know about this music and all I needed to know about peace, man.” Leah made a peace sign and directed it toward a smiling Crowley. She then focused back on the road. “They were cool and had great taste in music, but they were pretty forgetful on the whole parenting business. They had about five foster kids at once. We never had to wash regularly, and sometimes they would forget to feed us.”
“That’s terrible.” Crowley’s smile was gone.
“Not really. It was one of the best foster homes I ever stayed in. I got to attend lots of music festivals. When the school reported that me and the others had missed more school that year than we’d attended, we were removed from their custody.” She shrugged. “I was twelve, so I thought it was a pretty cool year.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“I don’t know. They threw me away like I was garbage when I was a baby, so who cares?”
The song on the radio changed to Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride.” Crowley started belting out a silly performance.
Leah fought a smile. “How do you know all of this music?”
“I’m cool like that, sweetheart.” He continued singing as he played his air guitar.
Leah punched him in the arm to get his attention, and then she turned the radio down some. She was trying really hard to stay mad at him, but she was slipping. “Why are you always so darn happy?”
“Why not?” Crowley asked.
“I don’t know if you’re faking it or if it’s genuine.”
“You’ve seen me at less happy times. I know you recall I wasn’t too happy the day you limped into Lulu’s or the day after searching all night for Jessup,” he said.
“But you plaster a smile on anyway.” Leah turned in to the back lot of the café and parked.
“It feels better than a frown.” They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke. “Look, Leah, I don’t have a clue what life has put you through. I actually know very little about you—”
“You’re one to talk, as you parade around like a poor country lawyer who trades his services for chickens.”
Crowley raised his hands in defense. “Hey now! I’ve only done that once.”
Leah rolled her eyes. “Can you ever be serious?”
“I am. Mrs. Jacobs gave me a roast chicken last year for notarizing some papers for her.” He grinned.
“You really need a license to flash that thing,” she said as she motioned to his grinning mouth.
“Lee, that’s the second compliment you’ve paid me today. I think you’re starting to like me just a little bit.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Crow.” She made the mistake of looking back to his stunning face. “Humph!” Leah opened her door to get out.
Crowley placed his hand lightly on her forearm. “Life’s too short.”
Leah pulled her arm free. “It feels too long to me.” She slammed the door and headed to the back café entrance with her half-empty water bottle, trying not to look at him anymore.
“Thank you for the donuts, ma’am.”
She couldn’t resist turning around and looking at him, even as she told herself not to. Her frown quickly dissolved and was replaced with a smirk. “You saving some for later?” she asked, pointing to the corner of his mouth where a glob of strawberry and fig preserves sat.
Crowley leaned in close to her. “Why don’t you get it off for me?” His alluring greenish-blue eyes gazed seductively into hers.
Leah grabbed the bottom hem of his white T-shirt and held it out while she took a gulp of water. She then spit the water into his shirt and yanked it up to his mouth, smearing the preserves all along the front of the shirt. “There,” she said, pleased with herself.
He moved so quickly that she flinched, thinking he was about to strike her. He ripped his shirt off and tossed it at her. “I hope you’re happy. Now I have to walk all the way home half-naked. I can’t be seen with donut smears.” He grinned at her.
Leah went from one shock to the next, taking in his perfectly toned chest and abdomen. “You. Have. Got to be kidding!” she said as she indicated his physique. “You just ate a pile of donuts, and that’s what’s hiding underneath your shirt. Unbelievable.”
He raised his hands in surrender and pranced away, letting her take in his bare, broad shoulders that culminated nicely into a V shape near his low-riding shorts. She held her breath until he was out of sight. She stomped up the stairs and went straight to the laundry closet to retrieve a bottle of stain remover. She smirked at her bold actions. It felt good not to let a man get the best of her. He seemed so pleased to let her, too.
Her demeanor softened at the thought, and she couldn’t resist holding the T-shirt up to her nose to take in the smell. The scent was masculine and clean with a touch of spice. She inhaled several deep breaths before she caught her reflection in a mirror. Feeling foolish, Leah doused the stain and put the shirt in the washing machine.
The next morning when Crowley opened his front door, he found a plastic bag dangling from his doorknob. Inside was his shirt, freshly laundered, with a note.
Sorry about yesterday. You have a right to your privacy. —Leah
He was glad she sounded over it. He thought back to her flinching at his quick movement as though she expected him to hurt her. He stared down at the note. “Who has hurt you, Leah?” he whispered and returned into the house.
Crowley itched to go over to Lulu’s to see Leah, but he felt she needed a break from him. He made his own meals for the day and kept himself busy with some paperwork he had to catch up on. Crowley didn’t have a secretary or a paralegal. His dad had ingrained in him to never have someone do something for you that you can do yourself.
20
CROWLEY LET HIMSELF into the café the following day well after closing. Leah was in the process of mopping.
“You still full from all those donuts?” She glanced at him while wringing out the mop. After one more pass, the floor was finished, so she rolled the mop bucket behind the counter as he came up beside her.
“Where’s Lulu?” He swiped an extra cold sandwich from the small display fridge. He laid into it at his normal speed.
“I made her go on another play date with her old ladies’ group.” Leah focused on scrubbing a stubborn spot.
“You’ve been really good for her,” he said between bites. “You managed to succeed in something that I’ve been trying to do for the past fifteen years.” He smiled in appreciation.
“She’s been really good to me,” she said as she mopped behind the counter.
&n
bsp; Crowley took the last bite of the sandwich and tossed the wrapper. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder to get her attention. She stopped mopping and looked at him. “Leah, would you take a ride with me?”
“I guess. . . . Just let me finish up here first.” She began to mop again.
Crowley pulled the mop from her hand. “Here. Let me finish and you can get washed up.”
“It’s my job. It won’t take too long. A customer shouldn’t do the mopping.” She held her hand out and wiggled her fingers, but he started mopping anyway.
“I’m not a customer. I’m the owner of Lulu’s, so it won’t hurt me to mop my own floors,” he confessed sheepishly without looking up.
Leah blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he’d just admitted. “What? I thought Lulu was the owner.”
“I own the café but never confuse the fact that she is still the boss.” He chuckled as Leah stared at him. “I purchased the café from Lulu to try to get her to slow down and smell the roses. Once she didn’t have to worry about the books anymore, it freed her up to consume her time with just running the business. So technically, my idea totally backfired on me. I wanted her to retire comfortably and not have all these worries.” Crowley held the mop in one hand and motioned around the dining room with his other.
“Why do you always pay for your food, if you own this place?”
“It’s no one’s business to know I’m legally the owner.”
“Then why admit it to me?” Leah untied the apron and pulled it off.
“Because you and I are going to be friends for a long time, and I think we need to start trusting each other. Don’t you agree?”
Leah nodded, then turned toward the stairs. “I’m going to get a shower real quick.”
“I could help you out with that too,” he teased as he started mopping again.
“Knock it off, Crow,” she said before shutting the door. She thought about locking it but figured he had a key for that door too.
Fifteen minutes later, Leah, wearing a pink cotton shirt that hung off one shoulder and a pair of black leggings, met Crowley at the foot of the stairs. Her hair was still wet from the shower.
“You look as fresh as a spring flower, ma’am,” Crowley said, full of his Southern charm. He pulled her close and nuzzled his nose along her neck to the tip of her bare shoulder, taking her scent in and causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. “You smell as fresh as a flower too.”
“Stop getting fresh with me, and tell me where we’re going,” she said but didn’t pull away from him.
Crowley breathed in her scent one more time before lifting his head to meet her eyes. “I want to show you my farmhouse.”
“You have a farmhouse, too?”
Crowley’s smile widened. “Yes,” he said as he pulled her out the back door where his Gator sat.
“Ooooh . . . can I drive it?” Leah lit up and hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Can you drive a stick shift?” Crowley asked. He climbed into the passenger seat, looking skeptical.
“No, but the ole wise one, Crow, shall teach me.” She smiled.
He quickly went over the mechanics. “You think you’ve got it?”
“Sure. Now which direction?” She pushed in the clutch and brake and cranked the manly machine.
“To the plantation. You know the way.” Crowley fastened his seat belt and reached around Leah to fasten hers as well.
“That is not a farmhouse, sir.”
“Plantation is just a fancy word for farmhouse. Besides, it’s what my family has always called it.”
Leah took off slowly, making the engine stall. She tried again and got it on the second try. She followed his directions and had no trouble dropping into the right gears.
“Not bad, Lee.”
“Being street smart requires picking up on things easily.” She met his gaze, which didn’t appear too happy with her comment. She wished she could take it back. If he only knew . . .
The gate was already open when they arrived at the plantation. Leah looked at him questioningly.
“I came out earlier today. Head up and park by the front porch,” he instructed. After she parked, Crowley led her along the driveway.
“I’d like to show you one of my favorite spots before we go inside, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure. We’re in no hurry, right?” she asked.
He smiled. “No hurry at all.” They walked halfway back down the drive, and Crowley went to sit underneath one of the giant oak trees.
Leah followed him. She rested her back against the trunk and looked at the perfect view of the house. It looked like a breathtaking painting, with the silver moss gently blowing from the tree branches, framing the mansion.
Crowley stretched out on his side in front of Leah to take in the view of her. She was a view he had become quite fond of.
“How does such a young man as you acquire a place like this?” Leah asked and continued taking in the scenery.
“It’s been in my family for generations. My dad’s parents lived here when I was growing up. Grandpa Mason was a real estate tycoon. He gave my parents the town house as a wedding gift with the orders to fill the place with children. They tried for years with no success. They eventually gave up and just started spoiling all of the town’s kids rotten.”
Crowley paused to sit up and propped one of his legs on a thick, exposed root. “I gave my parents an unexpected surprise on my momma’s forty-fifth birthday. She thought she was going through menopause, but she turned out to be pregnant instead.” He smiled at the memory of her sharing this story with him many times during his childhood.
“After I turned sixteen, my grandparents decided to retire to Europe and signed all of their properties over to me at my parents’ request. I also got a fat trust fund to go along with that gift. That day was the first time I realized how wealthy my family actually was. We didn’t live the way the rich do. My parents taught me to stand as a strong man without having the materials of this world propping me up.”
“I’m speechless,” Leah whispered.
“Well, soon after the paperwork was complete, my momma and I started a full-scale renovation project with the plantation. Before we got too far, the old structure caught fire. So we ended up having to start from scratch—researching the original floor plans and recovering as many pieces of furniture as we could.”
Crowley picked at a few twigs as he resolved to finish his family’s story. Without looking at Leah, he continued. “The summer after my high school graduation, the house had been completely rebuilt. The only thing left was to paint and dress it up. Me and Momma’s summer project was to hustle at getting it completed before I headed off to college.” He shook his head. “She was so excited to do this with me. We had it all planned out. Then she went to the doctor with a persistent chest cold, and two weeks after that she was diagnosed with lung cancer.”
“That’s awful,” Leah whispered. She reached over to hold his hand as he regained his composure.
“The worst part is she never smoked a cigarette in her entire life. I see people smoking away their health and I just want to scream at them. Why her and not them?”
Leah noticed his normal casualness had slipped away with his brutal honesty.
“They fought it the best they could . . . surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. It just didn’t respond well to treatment.” Crowley sat silent for a few moments before continuing. “My momma was a woman full of life. She could bring a room to life with her laughter. She loved laughing and joking around. She said you weren’t truly living if you weren’t laughing.”
“So that’s where you get it. That grin of yours is magic,” Leah said.
Crowley shrugged. “It was torture to watch the disease just suck the life out of her. My parents rented an apartment near Duke while she participated in some experimental treatments. I wanted to go with them, but they insisted I start college on schedule. I spent every weekend with them, though.” He
paused to clear his throat and Leah patiently waited until he seemed ready to continue.
“She didn’t quite make it a year, and my dad followed her by winter. The doctor said he died of a heart attack, but I know it was from a broken heart. They adored each other and were always saying they couldn’t live without the other. I guess they truly meant it.”
Crowley steadied himself for a minute before he looked up. When he finally glanced at Leah, a jolt of tenderness washed over him. Leah sat staring at him with a steady stream of quiet tears washing down her cheeks. He reached over and wiped her face gently with his fingertips.
“You’re an orphan too,” she whispered in the hushed breeze.
Crowley slowly shook his head. “No. Never. I’ve been blessed with a lifetime of love, memories, and Lulu.” He scooted over to cradle her into his side and leaned back against the tree trunk. “You have her too.”
Eventually, after her tears dried, Leah drifted to sleep in the lull of Crowley’s comfort. She was roused awake an hour later with the scent of grass and honeysuckle, the scents that engulfed her repeated dream of her daughter. She opened her eyes and found Crowley studying her.
“Sorry I fell asleep.” She rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t sleep well at all last night.” The dream had played in a constant loop in her sleep for the past few nights. The closer she got to Crowley, the more her ordeal plagued her.
“It’s okay. I haven’t slept the best in the last few nights either,” he said.
Leah sniffed the air. “I smell honeysuckle.”
“They line just about the whole property. I love the sweet smell of them. I guess my nose has the sweet addiction too.” Crowley tilted his head and met her eyes. “You don’t like honeysuckle?”
“I do. I actually smell them in my dreams quite often,” Leah said. She sat up and wiped the corners of her eyes. As she finger-combed her curls, Crowley leaned over to touch her hair. She enjoyed having his hands there more than she thought was possible.
“Your hair is getting really long.”
“You don’t like it?”
